The Boy, The Teenager, The Man
by JCoops
Summary: The life of a man, in tomorrow's dangerous world
1. The boy

**The boy**

The boy lay trembling on the ground shaking with fear. The rain had been falling for longer than he could remember, but still the boy had not dared to move. The skin of his hands had gone crinkly, the bits that he could see. The rest was full of mud. Mud mixed with a thick red substance that the boy had never seen before, not before last night. Last night the boy saw enough for the whole of his life. And he would never forget, the boy promised himself that.

He had been playing in the street with the rest of his friends. Ryder was throwing a lump of clay at Sandra, and she was running and screaming. Bull and Grandee were wrestling in the street. He sat on the wall, observing his friends. How strange it felt then, he was contented. He was just a small child without a care in the world. Not anymore. Now his world was full of problems. The problem had started when the village guard, Grandee's father, came running down the street. He was panting heavily, and the thick red substance was oozing out of a scrape in the skin of his forehead. He clutched it with the palm of his hand, trying to stop that flow, but it would not stop, the gash was too big. He slumped into the door well of the elder's hut. She opened the door, and saw Grandee's father lying there. She tried to lift him, but to no avail. Ryder's father, hearing the commotion, came out of his house and jumped over the wall, as they lived adjacent to each other, and picked up the bleeding man. He carried him through the door, and the door was closed behind them. The street was stunned into silence. Nobody knew how to react. The children had stopped playing and the adults had stopped talking.

The street was usually quite a busy metropolis, especially on days like today, when traders from miles around came into town to sell their wares. The boy loved those days, seeing all of the delicacies from the outside. People would come with metallic objects that shone in the sunlight. They could be worn around the neck, or around the arm, and some even could go around the finger, depending on their size. Other traders brought cloaks and furs made of the skins of animals that the boy couldn't even imagine. They were huge, and one unbroken piece of fur could have easily encompassed him many times over. Gemstones from distant corners of the land were brought in on those days, and the pretty colours danced in the street, and crowds of people would gather round, all trying to get a glimpse of the awesome treasure. People would come with brightly coloured robes and silks, telling fantastical stories, of adventure that the children used to listen to for hours. The wealthier members of the village would bring out what they had to offer, in the hope that they could barter something for one of the items that the traders brought with them. Various meats were always brought out, as well as leather cords in colours that had been dyed by the villagers. Women would bring out long strips of cloth to show, hoping to catch the eye of a merchant as he walked past. Men would come with trophies they had taken whilst hunting, and hope to barter for the many other things that the traders had to offer. For not only did they bring decorations and clothing, they also brought metallic objects that spouted fire at the end. There were long strips of extremely sharp metal that were capable of slicing right through the many robes that were put on offer. Although all of the traders carried the magical weapons of fire, they were only willing to barter the long daggers or the spears. They also sold kits of stones that were useful in sharpening the spears that the huntsmen used. The huntsmen would arrive trying to find gifts off the merchants, hoping to impress the woman that caught their particular eye. That was why the women loved the market day, and why they always came out looking their best, in robes of silks smelling of the fragrant flowers that grew in the region. They would all compete for the men's attentions, trying to gain the prize of a ring or a necklace made out of the strange shiny metals. The boy's mother had no such problems. She and his father had been together for many seasons, and she did not have to compete for anything to gain gifts of him. He always came home sporting new perfumes and silks for her. She was the most beautiful woman in the whole village, and he knew it.

The market day was loved by all and everyone was out having a good time. But Grandee's father had spoilt that.

The elder came out of the house. Many of the people had started grumbling, and a great amount of the traders were leaving the village much to the disappointment of the villagers, hoping to get a few more wares on that day, as it would be a whole week before they came again. The elder silenced the mumbling by raising her hands.

"Be calm, young ones."

Silence came immediately; the elder commanded the utmost respect in the village.

"There are many people coming, people who seek to do us harm"

A mass panic started in the street. The rest of the traders started to pack up and leave very quickly, quicker than some of their fat bodies should have done. Many of the men started to grab spears and daggers, ready to defend their homeland to the last. It was strange; however, some of the hooded visitors, obviously not from the village, were not running like the rest, the boy could see they were standing their ground.

"Do not panic children, for we must ready ourselves. Saran, lead your men onto the walls, when the aggressors come within range, launch your spears. May the God's guide your aim."

Saran, Bull's father, was the leader of the hunters in the village, he and a dozen other men started to walk towards the wall.

"The rest of you, take shelter in your homes, hide your younglings, and be ready to flee if we have to."

Hark, the boy's father, kissed his mother and then joined Saran as they made their way towards the wall.

The boy's mother grasped his hand, and they moved towards their house. They walked through the front door, and his mother started to pack a few belongings into a small leather bag their father had made for them, and then led his son into the underground part of the house. This is where the slept during the frequent thunderstorms, as the roof tended to leak, and so their father had constructed this part of the house to stay in. It was also camouflaged, and so unless you knew it was there, you would not be able to see it. His father kept all of the family's valuables there, which was not much. As his mother sat him on the one bed in the room, she lit an animal wax candle. The scent immediately assaulted the boy's nose, but it would be nothing compared to what he would smell later.

The candle cast a pale glow onto the room. Hanging from one of the walls was a large rug that had many bright coloured cloths incorporated into it. On the other wall hung the family heirloom, it was a thin golden chain that went around the neck like a necklace, with two accompanying arm bands. His father's father had found a small deposit once whilst he had been exploring in the plains as a child. He had spent many weeks fashioning it into the pieces of jewellery, and had always been unwilling to sell it, even in the hard times, when food was hard to come by. It was beautiful, and the boy had spent many hours simply sat on that very bed staring at it. On a table in the corner of the room sat various gemstones that the family had accumulated over the years, some of them were pretty colours, such as reds and violets, others dull on the one side, but sparkly on the other. The boy did not doubt that he could buy a lot of things off the traders with them. The family kept them as a sort of currency, able to barter them off when they needed to.

They sat like that for a few minutes in silence, the woman weeping to herself, the boy, not quite understanding, staring at the various treasures that the room hid. Then he started to hear it. It sounded like the flame magic that the traders brought with them. It was like a bark, although this time it was followed by a scream. This happened again, and again. The boy wondered what sort of magic could produce a bark followed by a scream. His mother started to wail, and there was a loud banging sound coming from upstairs. Suddenly, the hidden door opened, and one of the robed figures stuck his head in. The garish light from the outside momentarily blinded the boy and his mother.

"Come quick. Or you will not live to see the end of this day."

"You…you were not supposed to be able to find this room. Who are you?"

The boy's mother began to mumble to herself, whilst allowing herself to slowly be led up the stairs by the man.

"I am Alan. Alan Striker of the Order of the Phoenix, knights of the Western Isles, and it is an honour to assist you lady. Come along boy, your mother needs assistance."

He assisted her into the living room, and when the boy came up he crept back into the cellar. He came back a few minutes later and gave the boy a few of the gems he found in the basement.

"Where are the rest?" the boy asked.

"I could not find them; I am sorry boy, now come on."

Striker walked into the street, and then flung himself back into the room with such force that the boy was so startled he fell over. There had been a barking sound, but this time there had been no scream. The boy thought this was very strange.

"This could get interesting"

Alan said, and drew one of the magical items from within his robes. He flicked a switch on the side and jumped, sideways, out of the door, his gun barked many times, very quickly, and the man landed on the floor, and got into a crouching position. He held his hand up to the boy's mother and gestured for them both to follow him. The boy nonchalantly walked out into the street, still not understanding what was going on. His mother crept after him, still not stopping crying. When the boy turned his head to look down the street, he finally understood. Twenty metres away, there was a man lying on the floor, the thick red liquid coming out of many holes in his chest and stomach. The boy had the urge to vomit, and he ran to his mother. His mother squealed and buckled under the weight, falling to the floor. This startled the boy, and he jumped off her and started to run towards Striker. At that moment, another of the figures ran around the corner. Many things happened all at once. The boy collided with Alan, hoping to find some comfort in his arms, as he had done with his father many times when he felt ill, Ala lifted up his weapon and pushed it firmly into his shoulder. The other man, seeing his dead comrade, pulled up his gun and took aim at the boy's mother lying in the street. Just as the boy hit the Striker, he pulled the trigger. Again, there were many loud barks and the boy could see the flashes of the weapon. He thought he could also see something coming out of the end, but it was so fast that he wondered that he must have just imagined it. The bullets went wildly off course, missing the man by metres. The man pulled his own trigger, and it only barked once, but it was enough. The boy's mother was hurled off her feet, as he had just got to her knees. She flew 3 metres away from her original position, and landed with a crump on the floor. The same icky red substance started to flow out of her as well.

The Striker cursed to himself, took aim and fired again, this time striking the man three times in the chest.

"Fool boy!"

Alan yelled, and the boy started to cry, still not fully understanding the situation.

"Follow me."

Striker walked further on out of the centre of the village and into the adjacent farms. As they started to walk through the fields of the long grass, the man bumped into someone.

"Get down boy!"

Alan shouted as he started to open fire once again. The barks sounded very loud this time. A tall, lean man fell forward out of the grass, onto the boy, blood coming out of many wounds that the man had suffered. The boy struggled to get clear of the man, he was so heavy. It was at that point that the boy looked into the man's eyes. They were those of his father's. He stared at the robed figure. He had his father's long knife protruding out of his chest. His father had been stalking the raiders that had attacked the town and mistaken Striker for one of the bad guys, plunging his knife into his chest in an effort to free his son. Alan stared at them both in disbelief and staggered backwards, finally falling into the bushes. The boy struggled for longer, trying to get his father off him, but to no avail, he was just too small. Then it began to rain.

The boy stirred, he must have fallen asleep. For a long time he had lain there, hearing the fire of the magical weapons and explosions as the raiders set the village alight. He must have fallen asleep, however, as it was now all silent. There was a rustling in the bushes, though, as if someone was struggling to move. Then a figure fell over his father's body. It was a man, not of the village, but his hands and feet had been bound together. He had trouble moving and being made to fall over was the last straw. The man went crazy, kicking and screaming against the rope that wrapped around him. At last, he realised there was nothing he could do, and instead looked around. That was when he spotted the boy.

"Child, my name is David Skye. I am a knight of the Order of the Phoenix. I need your assistance. What is you name?"

The boy stayed silent. He couldn't find any words to speak.

"Strong silent type, hmm, fine. Can you untie these ropes?"

His father had been dislodged off of him by the fall, and now he was able to slip out. Slowly, he approached the big man. He was able to untie the ropes easily, his lithe fingers used to help his mother sew. His mother…

Within minutes, the man was free.

"Come on boy, we need to get out of here, I will look after you."

The boy, still not quite understanding, walked with the man, into the night.


	2. The teenager

**The Teenager**

The staff blow again knocked the teenager off his feet. The three men around him circled dangerously. They all held what seemed to be wooden staffs, but in fact were hardened with a core of metal. It was a very deceptive weapon, and one that had earned the Order its reputation of keepers of the peace. They were able to blend in to almost any situation, invisible in the background, but always watching, prepared to step in at a moments notice. The teenagers had spent the last twelve years of his life learning all about the lore of the Order of the Phoenix. He had matured greatly in those years. He had come to the Order as a lonely child, scared and orphaned. Many people had become interested in his progress, as never before had the Order taken in a child so young, it had always been the case that one would come when they had come of age, as a result of a family tragedy, or as a test to prove their love to a girl. The training would last a number of months, and then they would leave as an ordained knight. They would be taught basic military training: a mix of unarmed martial combat and gunplay with all manner of weapons, shotguns, rifles as well as pistols. Also, they would be taught the understanding of the Order, its traditions and philosophy. Throughout his life, the man could be called upon to perform a variety of tasks, as payment for the teachings the knighthood had given him. The boy, however, has been taught much more than that. Every one of the Orders masters had at some time tutored the boy. He had grown strong beyond his years, and he could now defeat his masters in almost all disciplines of the order. His marksmanship was unparalleled for miles around, and people from the nearby towns and villages would come to marvel at his speed and strength in combat. The chapter master himself, weary from his pilgrimage to New Washington to try and forge a peace there, had come to view the legendary child. Three of the masters of the staff were facing the boy, each a champion in there time, and never before been beaten. Even the teenagers, now well over 6 foot and an imposing figure to any who tried to face him, was having trouble defeating them.

He ducked under another swipe aimed at his head, and simultaneously flipped to avoid the swipe at his shin; he landed with his staff by his side, narrowly blocking the swing at his mid-section that would have collapsed his rib cage. The he went on the offensive. The first master, Orion, who had attacked his shin, was caught off guard by the teenager using his staff to pole vault himself into the master's face. His feet struck the man in the face with such velocity that he was thrown to the floor. He tried to stir, but he felt the staff, having been swung in a loop around the side of the boy, come to rest just below where his hairline finished the blow would have cracked his spine, and so he was out of the fight. The teenager, however, was not. He flipped over Orion's head as he landed in with a sweeping bow, bending his legs and back at the same time, bringing him very close to the floor. The other two masters, Godfrey and Jericho, has both thought of doing the same move, bringing their staffs over their head in a sweeping arc, they had brought their staffs crashing to the floor, half a second after the teenager had jumped over Orion. This feat of skill had brought a gasp from all watching, but the next move left them in awe. The teenager back flipped with such ferocity that he cleared the other two masters, and delivered a sharp crack to the temples of each of them. They both collapsed in a heap on the floor, and the teenager landed with perfect grace, delivering a bow to the chapter master, who began to applaud. The chapter master whispered in the ear of one of his aides.

"What does this boy call himself?"

"He has never spoken of his name sir; his tutors think it is down to the shock and stress he underwent before he came hear. He only answers to Knight, though his ears prick whenever anyone mentions the name Mark to him, perhaps that has some significance."

"Thank you, can you ask him to please come and see me in my chambers."

"Yes sir, right away."

The teenager dignifiedly helped his masters up. Orion ruffled his hair and smiled, as a father would smile, whilst the other two were two dazed to do anything except mutter their admiration and make their leave.

"You did well today young Knight, rest now, there will be no more lessons today."

A small man, wrapped in the white robes of the Order came scurrying over to the pair.

"Chapter Master Goldwin wishes to see you young Knight."

"Thank you."

The teenagers said and proceeded down the long corridor that led from the training area to the heart of the complex, and the offices of the Chapter master. The corridors were al in-keeping with the philosophy of the Order. They were all clean, and practical. Straight lines with intersections, and the walls were a brilliant white, with electric lighting at intervals to keep the corridors eternally blessed with a cool, pale, radiance. He felt the ventilation network at work, an almost imperceptible purring sound in the background of his ears, he had become so accustomed to that sound that it frequently faded out of his perception entirely, and now he had to really concentrate to hear it again. The teenager found himself stood in front of the awesome wooden doors, painted the same white as the rest of the complex. They were made from a tree called mahogany, and he had been told that even before the war, mahogany was considered a very precious wood. His hand hesitantly tapped the wood of the door. He waited for many minutes in silence, and then he apprehensively knocked again, this time a little louder. He waited for several seconds before he heard the courageous, booming voice of the chapter master.

"Enter"

He made his way into the room, and saw that it was clean and practical. The chapter master's desk was made of the same material as the door, and his chair was very stately, but modest at the same time.

"It is good to see you young Knight, please rest after that impressive endeavour in the sparring room."

"Thank you sir."

"I have been told a great many things about you, you know? Your tutors speak very highly of you. I have been told your potential is great, and I can see from today's performance that they were not exaggerating when they said this. You are not yet fully ordained are you?"

"No sir, a true knight has to do a great deed before he can be considered for knighthood. I have not yet finished my training, and so have not been deemed ready to undertake such a task"

"Very good young Knight, your mental aptitude equals your physical prowess. Now, I think, and your tutors share in this view, that you are ready to undertake such a taste."

The teenager's eyes beamed in the pale light, and the chapter master knew that the boy would be eager to prove himself in this task.

"There have been reports of two villages about to go to war with one another. We need to send someone over there to sort the mess out. Usually we would send a diplomatic team to the area, however, we see this as a fitting way to task your skills, both with the sword, and with the tongue."

"And with the rifle if need be sir?"

"We do not want to resort to bloodshed; however, we cannot allow such battles taking place in these desperate times. Violence only begets more violence, however, if the death of a few means saving the lives of the many, then there is no choice at all. Am I understood Mark?"

"My name is not Mark chapter master, and yes, I understand you perfectly. Thank you, when should I be ready for?"

"I assume your skills on a horse are as sufficient as your skills in other areas?" the chapter master did not wait for the boys reply, he had heard those stories as well, "one of the stable boys will present you with a mount as soon as you are ready. I will see you when you return victorious young Knight."

"I will not fail you sir"

The teenager, eager to prove himself, rapped to attention, with his fist over his heart, and left the room. He almost ran to the armoury and burst through the doors to get his equipment.

"Slow down kid, you'll do yourself an injury."

The charming young armourer looked the large teenager up and down.

"Word has already arrived, take what you need."

The teenager's eyes flashed over the armoury in wonder. There were rows and rows of assault rifles, pistols and shotguns, as well as various other, more exotic weaponry. The pride of the Knighthood, a sword that was capable of cutting through steel as if it were butter, hung from a wall in the corner. It had only ever been carried into battle once, by the chapter master himself, and he had personally slain many foes with it. Ever since that day, it had been held in complete reverence by every knight in the Order. Also, there were a number of rows of the Depew, the staffs that the Knights always carried as their signature weapons. He eagerly went along the walls, first picking up a whole suit of under armour, and took them into the changing room. He emerged in a skin tight black body stocking, that encompassed his whole body, and gave extra protection to his knees and elbows, as well as a layer of protection around his neck, as the knights rarely used helmets, and so had a small metal collar around their neck to stop someone from slicing it open with a sword or other instrument. It was a flawed design, as the teenager had pointed out many times, as it would not stop anything swung harder than a sword. Many of the tribesman used axes, and in close combat, if they got the chance to use it, it sliced right through the protection.

Next he searched for a suit of combat armour in his size. It was supposed to be lightweight, worn underneath the robes, to stop small knife attacks, as well as try and lessen the impact of bullets. It was made from a mixture of leather from the hides of animals, and a polymer that the knights made, which was very strong when hit, but at the same time flexible, which made for a versatile suit of armour. On top of that went a metal plate in the chest area, to stop the brunt force of rounds and pellets. It was very bulky, but the teenager admired it for the protection it offered, and so always travelled in it.

Lastly, the teenager donned the customary robes of the order, they gave the deception that the person was merely a big man, instead of a heavily armoured warrior. The robes also concealed the many holsters that the knight used to hold his weapons.

The first weapon that the teenager always took with him whenever he left the base was a colt 45. pistol. He was told it was ancient, and been modified many times. It used old fashioned ammo, well out-of-date nowadays, that relied on heavy impact force, rather than any sort of uranium core, to pierce armour. The technology to reproduce the ammunition was well extinct; however, the knights had found a whole warehouse full of the stuff when they did their initial explorations of the area, decades ago. The ammo was not in short supply, and so the teenager took 4 clips of bullets, just to make sure. One of the weapons that the knights had created was called a retribution rifle. It was made of the same polymer that the armour was made from, and was capable of firing rounds off either automatically or semi automatically at a range of over 100 metres. The clips held 50 rounds each, and they fired off around 600 rounds per minute, although proper tests ad never been done.

The rifle fit snugly beneath the knight's underarm, with the stock against his shoulder, so that all he had to do was bring it to bear and it was already in a firing position. The knight then moved on to close combat weaponry, He preferred the subtle simplicity of the knife, and so always took one at his side, and one up his sleeve. This gave him many tactical options in combat, and he could hide it if he was caught. The last thing he took was the traditional staff, and badge of office, of the knights, the Depew.

He looked down at himself, and thought he was finally ready. With one last wistful look in the armoury, he turned and left, for the last time. He then made his way up to the stables, and took a horse handed to him; it was a sleek warhorse, it looked like something out of the entertainment vids that the knights had from the vault. He mounted the horse and rode out into the sunset which greeted him. He turned back to look at the complex that had taught him so much. He thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen the guard just now changing for the night-shift, their white robes flowing in the wind. With a sigh, he turned back and rode onto into the night.


End file.
